Paranormal Link-7
"Huh? You came back already?"
I ran into Blanca just as she was coming down the stairs toward the entrance.
"No gigs today. Oh, heading out? Hold up a sec."
She was dressed for the street, so I figured she was off to her secret workshop. I called her back.
"Why?"
"Got something for you."
"...?"
I left her tilting her head in confusion and headed back upstairs to my room.
"...?"
Suddenly, the door to the next room over caught my eye—dead silent, like a mouse hole. Was she in there? That woman had such a faint presence, I had to crank my senses to max just to detect her. Not that I wanted to risk looking like a total creep right now, so I ignored it and opened my door.
Inside, there was the arm, still dumped in the corner exactly where I'd tossed it yesterday. Like some serial killer's trophy. Good thing no one had poked around in the meantime. I stared at it for a bit, wondering how to carry the damn thing, then decided to wrap it in my jacket. Better than swinging an arm around in plain sight. Plus, like Rom had warned me, with junk like this, you don't want anyone knowing who took it. No sense letting the flames splash back on easy prey like Blanca.
"What's that?"
I came back down with the jacket-wrapped arm tucked under my side, and there she was, waiting patiently by the entrance like I'd told her. Curious as hell about the bundled-up mystery item, she craned her neck to peek. But I'd wrapped it tight for security—no peeking.
"A gift for a good girl who listens well."
"...?"
"I'll show you when we get there. But first, one quick stop."
I planned to hit up the beggars and ask about that combo Rom had mentioned yesterday. Her eyes lit up at the promise of a gift, imagination running wild, and she fell in obediently behind me.
"...Just so you know, you shouldn't follow strangers who say they've got something cool to show you."
That eager look worried me, so I tossed out the well-meaning advice—but all I got back was a cold, dead stare.
"...?"
After I went out of my way to worry, too.
I grumbled under my breath as we reached the beggars' hangout. Gustaf, the king of the lot, looked up from scratching his belly while lounging in broad daylight.
"Oh, nice threads."
Anything's better than beggar rags, sure. But compliments from a bum didn't exactly thrill me, so I cut straight to why I'd dragged myself here.
"Rom told me to open an account at the Guild. Where's it at?"
"Jeez, at least react to the compliment, kid."
"What can I say? Compliments from beggars don't do it for me."
Gustaf grumbled and glanced at Blanca behind me.
"But why're you two together?"
"...Your speech is kinda weird."
In that odd folksy drawl, he pointed accusingly at me and Blanca.
"He said he had something cool to show me."
...Huh? Her casual bombshell twisted Gustaf's face into something even weirder—if it wasn't already off-kilter. Beggars on either side started rising, eyeing me like fresh meat.
Surrounded by beggars... ugh... my head. Old trauma kicking in, I sidestepped behind Blanca. One wrong move, and I'd be drawing steel.
"Kidding. He said he'd bring cool stuff by if he found any, and I guess I stuck in his head."
As I writhed in past agony, she burst out laughing at god-knows-what.
"...Yeah, we get it's a joke. But if you actually hurt Blanca or the Lopez couple..."
"Yeah, we owe you for those sandwiches."
"Shut it, you bum! Don't butt in when the grown-ups are talking."
Gustaf snarled at the peanut-gallery beggar behind him. Even the boss gets a pass, but random trash? No way. The guy gawked at me like I'd lost my mind, then his face crumpled into wounded puppy mode.
"...Even if it's true, calling me 'bum' to my face? That's... kinda... no, way too harsh..."
"...?"
"...?"
Trash stares flew from the surrounding beggars, Gustaf, even Blanca. Am I the only trash here? Framed by one joke, now getting the full garbage treatment—infuriating.
"Head toward City Yard from Chinatown, and midway there's this massive one-story bar."
Once the commotion died and Gustaf's ego healed, he finally explained what the Guild was and where. ...Kinda. A bar catering to mercs that doubled as a basic bank—some unholy hybrid. Got that much. But the actual directions after? Lost on me. I barely knew the city's layout or neighborhood names. All I had were spots around here, Iron Valley, and a few nameless jaunts from my first week.
"Your face says you didn't catch a word."
"Nah, I totally get it."
"I'd show you, but I'm retired."
I insisted I got it, but Gustaf ignored me and rambled on. Did I look that clueless?
"I'll guide you."
Blanca stepped up, since beggars apparently had some unspoken "retirees don't scout" rule and Gustaf was hemming and hawing.
"...Don't make that face. I'll show you the spot nearby, then head off to handle my stuff."
"...?"
She brushed off Gustaf's worried glare like it was nothing.
"Gotta go that way anyway to buy parts."
"...Just not a fan of you merc types. Got it?"
"I got it already."
"Like a teen daughter and her dad."
Gustaf whipped around to stare at my quip, looking oddly pleased. Regretting making the bum happy now. After eyeing me a beat, he softened his gruff tone.
"Won't repeat myself—keep her out of trouble."
"Yeah, wouldn't wanna get mobbed by the sandwich-forged beggar legion on the street."
Sighs erupted everywhere, like they doubted me. I hate beggar swarms that much. Hate seeing that nightmare, so of course I'd do my best. Ungrateful trash didn't get it.
...Beggars gonna beggar.
We stashed the arm at Blanca's secret base, then headed for Chinatown. Bit of a detour, but better than parading it around and stirring shit.
...She was walking beside me like she'd ditch her errands in a heartbeat to bolt back. The second she glimpsed the thing, her eyes lit up like she wanted to tear it apart right then. She was hustling along at a clip, itching to get back.
...Or just guide me and peel off.
"...You're walking fast."
"Am I?"
She was practically jogging, face flushed and breathing ragged as she asked.
"Doesn't match the looks—your breath's not even... huff... winded."
"Daily workouts. Gotta keep up for the labor gigs."
I shrugged at her curious question amid the heavy breaths. No bullshit—hadn't tapped any internal energy while walking. Just the basics of Step Thunder Flash, minding footfalls and weight shifts. The gap between us? Pure body mechanics. Without qi, my junk cyber-body was honestly worse off than her young, healthy, fully-limbed one.
"Looks normal, but you're eating ground. Hmm, watching close... kinda creepy."
"...?"
Creepy? Centuries of Central Plains footwork—peak Step Thunder Flash essence—reduced to 'creepy' in seconds. Damn kids these days...
"...Huff... huuuh..."
I vented inwardly as Blanca started slowing, gasping for air beside me.
"...Tired?"
"Nah, we're here."
She pointed. There. I turned—a massive one-story building sprawled out. Tucked on a side road leading to the bustle, not in it, but hogging that much prime city real estate? Bigger deal than I thought.
"Cool, I'll head in then. ...Be back?"
I started toward the door, then glanced back.
"...Huh?"
"You waiting?"
She blinked like I'd spoken gibberish, so I rephrased.
"Uh... sure? But I gotta hit downtown for parts after. Coming along?"
"Might as well since we're here. You owe me for the guide duty."
Couldn't buy her stuff, but I could haul her haul. She nodded, waving me off.
...Not as desperate to bolt as I thought?
Legs itching maybe, she dropped into stretches as I headed for the Guild. Then why hustle so hard...?